Morituri Nolumus Mori
by Erio99
Summary: Jay slept through the apocalypse, and now nothing makes sense. Lloyd has a glass clone, Zane's human, Morro's a machine, Kai has an ominous 'time limit', and no one will explain why. And of course a shadow organization just has to make everything harder. As they're all about to learn, some trials are so tough that even the strongest friendships fail. (Sequel to Veni Vidi Vici)


**Hey everyone! It's been a while, hasn't it? Certain people have been really pressuring me to write the sequel and get it out there (cough CHEESEPUFF cough). I hadn't originally planned on posting the sequel until, like, January. That way I'd have plenty of time to work out all the details of the sequel. But those 'certain people' inspired me to get my work out sooner. So make sure to thank them for this update.**

 **I have a basic framework in place for the plot, but I figure I'll just rely on reader suggestions and gut instinct to get me through the details. I do need you guys to tell me what you want to see in this story, to give me a good compass for how to make this sequel even better than the first. It's going to be a lot more focused, and I plan to be more conservative with my character death. Since I don't know fully where this is going (your guess is as good as mine), I can't guarantee how long it'll be until the next chapter.**

 **Enjoy!**

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Pixal Borg had a bittersweet relationship with her 'afterliving arrangements'.

On the one hand, being dead was a particularly hard pill to swallow. Being dead meant that all her friends were left to their own devices without her, traipsing about in the throes of an apocalypse. It meant it would be harder to get Zane to his medication.

But she'd had more than six months to adjust, and all her neighbours were incredibly supportive (she sometimes wondered how Morro Kaze managed, since he had spent the bulk of his afterlife alone).

Plus, they DID give her a pretty thrifty apartment. The janitorial committee came through bi-weekly, she had a nice TV, and a mini-fridge that was completely irrelevant since she didn't need to eat. Her neighbours were good folks, and it was interesting to live outside of Ninjago for the first time ever. Seeing new people and cultures was always a fun experience for Pixal. Sure, this land had tumultuous politics and questionable military authority, but she couldn't exactly complain since she WORKED for said military.

...That was probably one of the worst parts of her afterlife.

"Oh," retorted a glowing apparition. He had a scarf masking the lower half of his face, and a hood pulled over his hair. "It's YOU."

"I dislike this just as much as you do," she said. "So I would appreciate it if you would make this easier for me and stop whining."

"I don't need someone to follow me around," said the figure. "Least of all, you."

"If I could leave you and do something more productive with my day, I would. But here we are."

"The feeling is mutual," he grumbled. He swatted his hand in her general direction. "Why don't you kiss and make up with your 'friends' and pass on already."

Her eyes narrowed. His words bit at her, a harsh reminder that her friends were alive and she was not, but she could bite harder. "Why can YOU not do the same?"

He narrowed his eyes back. "You know why, PIXAL."

"I want to hear you say it, RICOCHET."

The male ghost, called Ricochet, turned away without a response. After a moment of crawling agitation he hissed, "I don't need a babysitter."

Pixal straightened her back, looming just a few inches taller than him. He floated to close the difference.

"Clearly the Preeminent thinks otherwise," said Pixal, hands on hips. "Otherwise I would not be here."

Ricochet huffed, unnecesary breath muffled by his mask. "Whatever. What're we waiting for again?"

"We are to confirm the safe passage of a hospital transfer."

His eyes sparked with recognition. "Ah, so it's finally here," he cooed.

"THEY are finally here," Pixal corrected. "THEY have a name, you know."

Ricochet shrugged. "An unfortunate side effect to being alive."

"Don't pretend you are above this, Ricochet," said Pixal. "You have a name, too. You just-"

He leaned into her, hands gripped on her shoulders and a hot rage steaming from him. "Don't. Don't say it."

She shrugged him off. "I did not plan on it. I know how sensitive you are about the subject."

"I'm not sensitive about anything," Ricochet denied. "I-"

She cut him off with a stern 'shhh'. He followed her eyes to an ambulance rolling up the road.

Ricochet flashed a grin, though no one could see it. "It's about time."

The ambulance did not grace the air with its siren, did not pierce the heavy silence with an even heavier wail.

Pixal's breathing hitched, because she knew what was inside. She knew WHO was inside.

She really, truly hated hospital transfers. Most of the time, they came in with sick faces and came out with scars (or not at all).

The guardhouse they both sat in was a flimsy, sad thing, and Pixal often wondered why they never replaced it - or at least cleaned it out. All the junk everywhere made the already cramped space nigh impossible to navigate.

As the ambulance rolled up to the side of the guardhouse, the two guard-duty ghosts fell into a frantic spell. They'd neve had to deal with a hospital transfer this special. Who would answer? Who would open the gate? How would they untangle themselves because for the love of god they were ghosts, this kind of physical interaction shouldn't even be possible for them.

It was eventually decided through glances and grunts that Pixal, the higher-ranking officer, would be the one to greet the ambulance and open the gate.

The tinted ambulance window rolled down to reveal the driver. She had red hair tied back in a ponytail, with traditional EMT garb. Her snappy brown glasses didn't look like they belonged on her face, or even that they were real.

Pixal did a double-take.

"Sky-"

The redhead pressed her finger against her lips, and Pixal thanked the heavens that Ricochet wasn't looking, and that he had never met Skylor. What in the world was SKYLOR CHEN doing here? This couldn't have been Skylor Chen. It just couldn't have. Last time she saw her, she was an unthinking Patchwork Monster laying waste to their home country. Last time she saw her, she was beating the daylights out of them in a desparate attempt to quell her senseless rampage. Last time...last time...

She shook away the intrusive images.

"C-can I see your paperwork, ma'am?" It felt strange to call her old friend such a title.

Skylor gave a slow nod. She seemed wary - and rightfully so - of the hooded figure at Pixal's side, keeping her movements slow and careful. She pulled out a packet of papers and set them in Pixal's ghost hands.

If Pixal looked close enough, she could see Skylor was holding back a surprised expression of her own. Which was reasonable enough, Pixal was a lot more ghostly than when last they met. They both had changed a lot, it seemed.

She glanced over the top page. Seemed like run-of-the-mill transfer paperwork. The authorization codes checked out, the stamps were all there, the signatures had their i's dotted and t's crossed. It seemed Skylor really hit all the bases. But why was this transfer patient so important to her that she felt the need to sneak into this facility with them?

Then she saw it. The transfer information page.

Name: [Redacted]

Number: 7648921

Species: Fairy, [Redacted]

Transfer Itinerary: From [Redacted] to [Redacted]. No stops allowed.

Purpose for Transfer: As per the [Redacted] Agreement, all [Redacted] are required to be sent to [Redacted] for further inspection and experimentation.

Vital Information: [Redacted] has been in the [Redacted] for nine months. They are in stable condition. They show signs of being the first successful [Redacted]. Certain persons of interest have inside information regarding [Redacted] status and condition, as well as the nature of [Redacted]. These persons of interest might aid [Redacted] in escaping. Keep under high security.

And in the right upper-hand corner was two photos.

She refused to look at the photos after realizing she had seen those faces before. She'd seen them smile and laugh. She'd said hello to those faces, and eventually goodbye. The transfer's name sliced her tongue and squeezed her throat as she forced it down.

It took her every ounce of strength to steel herself, and to keep her from vomiting despite being incapable of such.

Hospital transfers always had a hard time. Pixal never knew much about their experiences herself, but second-hand rumors was all she had cared to hear. Needles, scalpels, dissections, electrocutions, psychological tests, sleep depravation, weeks of solitary confinement. She only needed to hear their screams once to be glad she wasn't involved.

But now she was. Because here was Skylor Chen, somehow with all her paperwork in order, with one such hospital transfer in the back. And she could see the pleading look in Skylor's eyes, though unsure of what exactly she was pleading for Pixal to do. And she could see the cursed tattoo dug into Skylor's neck. In that instant Pixal knew she was going to be involved in this.

She gave the papers their due authorization, and pressed the button that opened the gate, and watched the ambulance roll away.

Pixal sat back down with her head in her hands, horrified by what she'd just done. She'd just given that poor hospital transfer access to one of the most brutal undertakings he'd ever experience. On the other side of the gate was a special brand of hell, and she'd just allowed the hospital transfer to waltz right into it. Hopefullly Skylor knew what she was doing, because Pixal didn't.

No one deserved what they did to hospital transfers here, least of all Jay Walker.


End file.
